


Chain of Command

by quaffanddoff



Category: Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: Choking, Dom/sub, F/M, Femdom, Set in the future, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:54:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27607256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quaffanddoff/pseuds/quaffanddoff
Summary: The official line of succession doesn't always reflect who'sreallyin charge.
Relationships: Joe Biden/Kamala Harris
Comments: 8
Kudos: 19





	Chain of Command

"That'll be all for today. Thank you for coming, everybody." The room filled with the sound of chairs scraping on the floor as the Cabinet members arose and began to collect their belongings. "Ah, Madam Vice President—a quick word?" Joe added in a lower voice.

Kamala had just started gathering the documents strewn across the table before her, tucking them neatly into a thick binder. She smiled easily and nodded. "Of course, Mr. President." The rest of the Cabinet members chattered amongst themselves as they gradually filed out of the room. When the door finally closed, the two leaders were alone.

The powers and duties of the Vice President were originally enumerated during the Constitutional Convention, but by the time Kamala assumed office, 233 years of radical transformation had left the role virtually unrecognizable. The founders had envisioned the Vice Presidency as little more than a tie-breaking vote in the Senate. 

But their country as they had known it was long gone and Kamala envisioned much, much more than they had ever dared to dream.

She had been an ambitious leader from day one, willful, fierce, and relentless. Regardless of her job title, she was no deputy. She was no subordinate. And she was never, ever second-in-command.

As soon as the last Cabinet member stepped out of the room, Joe instantly dropped to his hands and knees and crawled across the hardwood floor. He came to a halt at Kamala's feet and sat back on his heels, assuming the position just as he'd been trained to do: back straight, hands clasped behind his head, elbows wide, knees spread, eyes lowered respectfully. 

He was the picture of perfect submission, impeccably posed. Kamala was both impressed by his automatic obedience and annoyed because there was nothing for her to correct. She raised a spiteful boot and thrust it into the center of his chest, the heel jabbing right into his tie. He went down hard, nearly cracking his head on the oval mahogany conference table as he fell. Before he could get his bearings she was there on top of him, one foot perched on his windpipe, cold fury in her eyes. 

He laid there, splayed out on the floor, making no move to defend himself.

"Just what the fuck do you think you're doing?" Kamala hissed. Despite how well-trained Joe was by now, he still couldn't help but flinch at the palpable ire in her voice. "Who the _fuck_ do you think you are?"

"I'm sorry, Madam! Please forgive me. I haven't earned your forgiveness, I know, but please. Please, Madam."

"Well, you've got one thing right: you haven't earned it." She pressed down harder on his throat and he choked, a shallow, gasping wheeze that echoed off the walls of the stately room. "Your audacity is shameful. You haven't earned my mercy. You've earned nothing. You _are_ nothing."

"Yes, Madam. Of course, you're right, Madam. Thank you for putting me in my place," Joe managed to croak.

"Putting you in your place isn't some service I perform for you," she snarled. "None of this is for _you_. It's for my own amusement, my own gratification. It's my privilege, my right to rule you."

"Yes, Madam. Putting me in my place is as natural and effortless as breathing to you. Just by waking up in the morning, you own me. I'm humbled by your very presence. Your mere existence is a gift, one that I don't deserve."

Kamala's lips twitched as she attempted to stifle a satisfied smirk. She had to admit that it felt good to hear that. She liked it when he got a little poetic with his tributes to her.

"That's right. Well done, Joe. You may be worthless, but at least you know that you're worthless."

"I do, Madam. Thank you." He hesitated. "May I please kiss your feet to show my deep gratitude?"

"Kiss my feet?! Absolutely not," she spat. She pulled her boot off his throat and raked it down his body, landing on his groin. He groaned as he felt her stab her sharp heel down once again.

The pitiful sound was muffled but still audible out in the hallway. The Secret Service agents who stood guard outside the meeting room exchanged knowing glances, but didn't say a word, as usual.

"No, not yet. That's too good for you," Kamala mused. "Too much of a reward. We need to schedule another longer, private meeting soon so I can go over a few agenda items with you. Then, if you make some progress on your workload, maybe I'll consider letting you kiss my feet. _Maybe_." She ground her heel down as if she were stamping out a lit cigarette. Joe moaned, his glazed eyes fluttering shut, his hips pushing up into the sensation.

"Just remember," she added softly, leaning in close. "You serve at _my_ pleasure."

"Yes, Madam."


End file.
